


Phantom Pains

by Byrdybyrd



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Human Transmutation, I make this boy suffer so much, Limb loss, disorientation, phantom pains, poor Edward - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 09:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrdybyrd/pseuds/Byrdybyrd
Summary: Between the blood loss and sheer trauma of the transmutation, Edward was unable to process the results of trying to bring his mother back.





	Phantom Pains

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in an old school notebook where I should've been taking notes. Oops.

Edward couldn’t remember a good part of the week. Everything burned, even his own eyes stung as they brimmed with involuntary tears. The world seemed to be tinted a disgusting shade of red and yellow. His skin ached at every touch. The only solace was the damp cloth draped across his forehead, cutting through the thick layer of fevered sweat.

He wasn’t sure if or when he was dreaming. Voices and words seemed to constantly fade in and out. Occasionally, Edward was lifted from his bed and brought into the restroom to bathe. He made his discomfort clear by weakly swatting at the prodding hands, moaning about how he was too hot. Though he was unable to stay awake long enough to see if his displeasure was acknowledged. He felt weightless, and time seemed nonexistent. These episodes typically ended with him shivering and slumping over, barely conscious enough to know what was being done to him. And then he was in bed again, heaving for fresh air and clarity. Incoherent words would lull him into a restless sleep, the voices varying and switching.

Edward reluctantly ate what little food he was conscious enough to manage on his own, and eagerly drank the fluids brought to his bedside. His sleep consisted of disembodied voices and fever dreams, causing reality to distort that much more. At times, his waking moments and dreams had no end and intertwined. The battle for his consciousness both exhausted and alerted Edward.

The boy finally became lucid by the end of the week. A book lay open by his bedside, discarded and alone along with the two chairs against the wall. The room appeared bare and devoid of life besides his own. Edward guessed his caretakers were downstairs. It wasn’t until he reached for the glass of water on his right that he fully awoke.

Gone. His right arm was just… gone. Where what should have been a limb lay a bandaged stumped not far below his shoulder. Edward choked back a rather pitiful cry of disbelief as he tried to move his fingers. Reach out, flex, do  _ anything _ mobility-wise with his right arm.

Nothing happened.

Edward was too lost in his own panic to register the odd lump under the blankets. He would later realize that his arm was not the only limb missing.

Pinako, Winry, and Alphonse took care of him, explaining what they could as Winry worked on making a mechanical replacement. He’d nodded numbly and tried his best to understand. But Edward just… couldn’t.

His limbs didn’t  _ feel _ gone. They were always there, getting goosebumps from the cold or burning up in the heat. He had felt so many things with that arm, so many sensations that couldn’t be put into words. It held its own story in a way, and it couldn’t just be… gone. Edwaed felt disoriented at the mere thought. But now the child had a lot of silence. Time to reflect, think, and to  _ feel. _

He never got used to the phantom pains. What started off as the occasional pressure on a limb he no longer had progressively grew into a constant burning sensation. Edward would attempt to stretch out a leg that tried so hard to convince him was there. He’d reach over to scratch or hold his wrist, but his left hand would only be met with empty space. Empty space that hurt.

There were times Edward couldn't help himself. He hated Winry for the procedures she put him through. He hated Pinako for sounding calm as if nothing were wrong. He hated himself for being so weak and helpless. He hated God for abandoning him and leaving him to rot.

But Edward could never hate Alphonse.

It took a year for him to recover. Adjusting to his new arm and leg took time, but mobility eventually came. The random bursts of stinging or throbbing grew into a dull numbness to the boy. Though of course, his body was strained, and sleep was necessary.

Waking up was never pleasant. Edward would emerge from a dream, entangled in his bedsheets and trapped in the visions of his subconscious. On one such occasion, Winry was in the room. She’d been drifting off herself when Edward thrashed and let out a small cry. If possible, the girl fell upward, out of the chair.

“It’s alright, Ed,” she pleaded. “Please, stay awake.”

He looked at her briefly, but there was no recognition. They eyes studied her as if she were a riddle. Then gone again.

In the night, a few hours later, Edward awoke and tried desperately to calm his racing heart. He sat up and sucked deeply at the nighttime air.

“Brother?” Alphonse looked over. “What is it?”

“N-nothing, Al. Everything’s good.” But at the very moment, he knew it wasn’t. He cursed at himself to wake up.

He didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Snurt.


End file.
